


Just Desserts

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: Cordelia has a bit too much to drink on her and Misty's date night, and things get messy under the cover of a tablecloth.





	Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerwinters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwinters/gifts).



> This purely, and utterly, just smut with not even a shred of plot to be found.

The warm glow of  _ Cafe Degas’s  _ stringed up lantern lighting casts a beautiful glow over the crown of Misty’s golden hair, making the strands seem light, highlighted in honey tones. Though her freckled shoulders - exposed by her dress, a soft pastel blue fabric that wisps around her, falls against her sun-kissed skin with a sheerness that keeps the toned muscles of her bicep still visible. But Misty Day - in all her natural beauty - is too preoccupied with the sight in front of her to even care about her own outfit. 

 

Cordelia ( _ Cordelia,  _ even her name sounds pretty. Rolls off the tongue, makes Misty want to repeat the title over and over and  _ over  _ again until she can’t anymore) looks radiant. Misty wonders, somewhat, if that’s because she’s the  _ Supreme  _ now, that whole radiant,  _ glowing  _ health package - but she remembers Cordelia from before Hell, and she’s still is the same woman who enchanted her all that time ago. 

 

(It was not  _ that  _ long ago, but Hell has a way of doing that to you - blurring the lines of minutes and smudging the ink on the seconds until all you really remember is  _ now,  _ and that can go on for an awful long time, if it’s all you have.)

 

Cordelia’s eyes - her  _ real _ eyes - twinkle with the reflection of the candlelight on their table, and Misty, her ringed fingers laced with Cordelia’s atop the heavy, white fabric of the table cloth, she thinks;  _ I don’t think I would mind, very much, if I had to live in this moment forever.  _

 

Cordelia smiles at her, a little tug at the corners of her lips that makes Misty’s cheeks heat with a girl-ish blush, something Cordelia seems to always get out of her.  _ You’re falling hard for her,  _ Misty returns her partner’s affectionate expression, looking at the red wine as it sloshes against the sides of Cordelia’s glass - crystal dinnerware bouncing the light off of it’s surface as she raises it up to her lips. Lipstick, pink and glossy, sticks to the rim as she sips. 

 

“Did you enjoy dinner?” Cordelia asks, something to talk about, something to fill the silence. Their plates, cleared with napkins used and discarded onto the china, draw Misty’s glance. It was  _ good,  _ it always is, but she can’t deny the fact Cordelia’s home cooking is a bit better. 

 

Some may say she’s biased, Misty thinks she has good taste. 

 

“Yes,” Misty’s own glass is empty, though she hasn’t had  _ quite  _ as much as Cordelia, a cup or two behind, but the lingering effects of the alcohol still have her giggling at Cordelia’s smallest much more drunken movements.

 

_ It’s nice,  _ Misty uses her free hand, tucks a stray blonde curl behind her own ear, brushing the rebellious wisps away from her eyes,  _ to see her let loose and relax _ . 

 

Cordelia blinks at her, releases Misty’s fingers from their holding, and props her chin up on her palm, elbow pushing at the tablecloth. The fabric bunches up as she pushes her weight into it to lean slightly across the surface. The flame of the candle dangerously close to her curtain of hair, “You look beautiful tonight, did I tell you that?”

 

“You’ve told me twice,” Misty reminds her, feels a flush rush down the column of her throat, across the top of her chest at the  _ look  _ Cordelia is giving her. The patio is nearly empty, a quiet older couple sits opposite to their table on the other side, an ocean of seating arrangements between them, “-and both times I said you looked prettier, Miss ‘Delia.”

 

Cordelia’s content hum vibrates through the space, hugs Misty in the suggestive nature of her following lip bite. Cordelia holds the plushness of her lower lip between her teeth, eyes flickering down to the sweetheart neckline of Misty’s dress. 

 

“You would look even better,” Cordelia’s words slightly slur, the endearing lisp of her words warming Misty’s heart, like a flame blooming in her chest, at the same time Cordelia’s wandering foot tickles the inside of her calf and creates a heat in her groin. The Supreme, voice growing husky and rougher as she lowers the pitch, “With my hand between your thighs.”

 

Oh,  _ oh.  _ Misty’s eyes widen, the blue irises framing blown pupils, and a sort of guilt gnawing at her around the edges as she doesn’t push away Cordelia’s climbing toes, freed from her high heel left somewhere on the floor under them. The smoothness of her nylons drags across the fuzziness of Misty’s leg,  causing goosebumps to raise in their wake.

 

_ She’s drunk, you should stop her.  _ The thought races through her head, the moral compass of her heart has always pointed North, directed her true - and it almost does so again, but Cordelia’s chair drags against the concrete floor, the heavy wooden build of it being scooted out. The sudden noise sends the needles in a spin, a heavy slickness building in between her thighs as Cordelia slow sits back in her chair. 

 

“What are you doin’?” Misty’s voice raises as her question ends, the air leaving her lungs as she watches Cordelia gather up her dress skirt, a dark and lustful look over taking her soft features - the kind that promise things that are  _ not  _ appropriate on a cafe’s patio. 

 

“The waiter is taking too long,” Cordelia shrugs, the sleeves of her dress move with the motion, the smell of the lilies sitting in the middle of the table filling her nose as Misty breathes in deeply to calm her racing heartbeat. It feels like a hammer, pounding down on the head of a nail in time with her short, nervous breathing.  _ Calm down,  _ Misty’s rational side reasons,  _ Cordelia would never do that, not in public, at least.  _ But Cordelia’s voice is sure, it only hiccups once with a stammered giggle, when she states, “I’m getting m-my own  _ dessert. _ ”

 

The squeak that buffers off of Misty’s lips as her partner dives under the table is deafening in her own ears, she jumps in her seat as she feels Cordelia kneeling down  _ there,  _ her kneecaps nearly resting on Misty’s feet.  _ Did someone hear?  _ Misty wonders, her hair tumbles over her shoulders as she spins her head to check on the older couple, but they’re none the wiser that the two women sitting closeby have been reduced to one.  _ One that can be seen,  _ Misty worries her bottom lip, the skin going raw under the attention, her knee knocking against the bottom of the table as Cordelia’s warm palms fan out on her thighs, working her legs open.

 

“Dee,” Misty’s mumbled, nervous it’s airiness - in the jumpiness of her legs as Cordelia warm mouth grazes across her inner thigh, working itself from her knee, blowing hot gusts of panted breath that no doubt smells of sour wine across tender flesh; “‘Delia, someone’s gonna see.”

 

It feels silly, it feels  _ vulgar  _ when Misty’s paw for the edge of the tablecloth and make tight fists in the cotton, feeling the raised, embroidered lace design as she raises the damn thing up, to look at Cordelia in between her legs.  _ You’re crazy!  _ Misty wants to yell, to pull her up and take her home and maybe -  _ certainly _ use their newest toys on her. 

 

Cordelia’s got a shit eating grin on her face, cheek resting against the softness of Misty’s thigh, her fingers knotted in her dress and keeping it pushed up, out of the way. The hooded look of her eyes, the way she turns into Misty’s skin and bites playfully at the skin - Misty can’t help but  _ want  _ her to keep going. So she glares at Cordelia, it lacks any  _ real  _ anger, and drops the table cloth back into place, the coolness of it pooling on her upper thighs.

 

The hands that hold her dress up gather the tablecloth along with it, pushing the tented fabric up. Misty reminds herself,  _ don’t look down,  _ as she fiddles with whatever she can reach; a silver spoon that’s engraved design provides a trail for her fingertips to drag across.  _ Don’t look down, act natural.  _

 

Cordelia’s mouth sucks shaped bruises on her thighs, the  _ pop  _ of her lips releasing each time quiet enough that only someone listening for the sound could notice it, but Misty is listening for it, and she screws her eyes shut for a second or two, to compose herself as the pattern of Cordelia’s kisses clearly outlines her destination.  _ You’re going to get caught, someone’s going to see,  _ Misty decides to hold her breath, attempting to keep in any noises that might attempt to spill from her as Cordelia reaches the edge of her panties - tongue flicking against the edge of the cotton. 

 

The long, measured exhale she lets out when Cordelia’s mouth meets her clit through the thin, damp material of her panties is accompanied by the feeling of her eyes rolling back slightly - to a stranger, Misty wonders what she looks like, sitting alone at a table with two empty plates and grinding her teeth. Forgetting herself, she chances a glance down to her lap, regretting the decision as soon as her vision focuses in on the shape of Cordelia’s head covered, barely noticeable in her lap. 

 

Without being able to actually  _ see  _ Cordelia, it leaves every touch a surprise; from the tickle of her hair brushing against her legs, to the sudden pull of fingers hooking into her panties, pulling the fabric aside for better access. When Cordelia’s warm mouth sucks steadily on her clit - unrelenting even as Misty squirms, the softness of Cordelia’s face pressed against her, a groan bubbles up her throat. The older couple, they turn their heads, and Misty covers the noise with a faked cough. 

 

Misty doesn’t let herself imagine the sight under the table - Cordelia on her knees, black dress pooling around her as she buries her face deeper in between Misty’s thighs,  _ well damn,  _ Misty thinks bitterly,  _ how am I gonna top this? _

 

Without the barrier of underwear, Cordelia’s tongue early gets to work on flattening against her, swirling around her bundle of swollen nerves and  _ fuck,  _ Misty’s legs twitch as two slim fingers press into her. Cordelia doesn’t wear as many rings as she does, but the one she does wear drags ever-so perfectly. As Cordelia curls them forward, the movement met with no resistance. Misty’s face burns with embarrassment almost as much as the flames in her belly do,  _ that’s not fair, she can make you that wet with such little attention. _

 

The plants around them - hanging in their baskets, ivy crawling up the wrought iron of the patio’s fencing, the posts holding up the awning above them. Misty’s flushed appearance, the red of her cheeks and the tint of her nose, only highlighted by the glow of the lanterns. Unable to stop herself, her mouth parts open, sucking in air that seems to be in short supply as Cordelia’s persistent tongue and fingers work her with a clear purpose. 

 

The blunt fingernails of Cordelia’s fingers drag against that soft,  _ just right  _ spot inside her, makes her legs tremble and pressure build like water on the high side of a dam. The hardness of the spoon in her hand, digits squeezing it as a sort of replacement of saying  _ Cordelia, Cordelia, Cordelia  _ like a broken record. But Cordelia, the alcohol in her system not only makes her braver, looser, but  _ bolder -  _ she keeps taking her tongue back, holding her hand still.

 

Knocking her fist down into the table top,  _ thump thump,  _ Misty’s voice when she whimpers to the woman between her legs is low, desperate and pleading and she just wants her to  _ do  _ it already, before someone comes by and ruins all Cordelia’s work, “‘Delia,  _ please.”  _

 

The fingers in her move again, she feels Cordelia’s chin move as she nods against her; Cordelia’s hot breath against her turns back into Cordelia’s hot  _ mouth  _ surrounding her,  _ that’s the real magic,  _ Misty shifts against her chair, grabbing the edge of the table for support. The repeated curling of Cordelia’s fingers, the warm embrace of her mouth,  _ God,  _ it’s almost too much. Misty’s eyes flutter shut, she bites her tongue until the taste of copper blooms against her taste buds. Then - like the first  _ boom  _ of a fireworks show, unexpected even though you know it’s coming, lighting up the early evening sky with colorful sparkles, Misty’s knees clamp together, pinning Cordelia’s shoulder in place as she comes. Instead of tipping her head back, Misty’s chin meets her chest, she breathes deeply, trying not to make a scene. 

 

The spasms of her stomach muscles make them jump, Cordelia’s fingers leaving her along with a rush of wetness that follows the retreating digits, coating Cordelia’s palm as it pulls away, spraying against the bottom of Cordelia’s chin, dripping down the expanse of her throat and running down the freckled skin of her chest. 

 

The aftershocks - like jolts of electricity that zap through Misty’s body, up and down and making her heartbeat throb down  _ there,  _ they’re both comforted and heated up by Cordelia’s hand smoothing up and down her legs, arranging her dress to fall properly again. 

 

She’s so distracted by the heat of them, fingers teasing at the back of her knee, kisses pressed in random places that surely have some reason behind them. The curve of her thigh, turning into the top of her calf, and Cordelia’s lips grazing it. Misty doesn’t notice the waiter approach, and only looks up at him when he clears his throat to get her attention. 

 

Her eyes must look glassy, she probably has a frazzled air about her, but he simply looks down at his notepad and asks, “Would you like to order dessert  _ now,  _ or wait for your date?”

 

Misty sighs, she feels Cordelia tap her fingers against her inner thigh. 

 

“I think we’d like the check and,” Misty’s blush reddens as she feels the stickiness on the chair beneath her, “A lot of napkins.” 


End file.
